Bloodletting
by Too Old For FanFiction
Summary: An angry Klaus one-shot. Just one of the many scenes in my head of Klaus and Caroline reuniting in New Orleans.
1. Chapter 1

_I got the ways and means to New Orleans_

_I'm going down by the river where it's warm and green_

_I'm gonna have a drink and walk around_

_I've got a lot to think about._

_- Concrete Blonde, Bloodletting_

Storm clouds roiled not only over the city of New Orleans but also around the world's original hybrid as he stalked the sidewalks of the French Quarter. Very little had pleased him since he had returned to this city, and the phone call he had received only twenty minutes earlier had not broken the streak of irritations. Klaus Mikaelson was not a man who played well with others, he was certainly not a man was to be _summoned_ by anyone's whim, and the call he had gotten was definitely not a polite invitation. The fact that he had to, yet again, remind everyone who he was made Klaus a very unhappy man.

None of the main floor lights were on inside the bar, apparently closed to business that night. Klaus did not hesitate for a second. He kicked the doors open, rending metal locks in twain. The glass window in one of the doors burst, raining shards of glass across the floor, when it rebounded off the wall behind it

There was the sound of people moving overhead and Klaus growled, "Marcel!" Then he waited. He would go no further. They would come to him, as it should have been all along.

"Klaus, Klaus, my man," Marcel sing-songed good-naturedly as he came down the stairs that were roped off and posted as 'Personnel Only.' He did stop at the bottom of the steps to take in the broken glass, busted doors, and his very angry maker. "There's a doorbell, you know," he joked, never losing his wide, white, smile.

"Do not dissemble with me, Marcel," Klaus warned. "Explain to me why I shouldn't be revoking my earlier truce and tearing your heart out right now. Or was the phone call I received just another misunderstanding?"

Marcel's friendly façade evaporated. "I thought you might be interested in a little something my boys picked up earlier this evening," he said with a cool assuredness that only came when one truly felt they held the upper hand.

_Haley_. The name instantly echoed through Klaus' mind. Marcel had used whatever power he had over the witches and found the coven and the girl. '_No. Elijah would have gotten word to me faster than this lot could ever have assembled. Elijah would not fail me there.'_

There was movement on the stairs behind Marcel once more that drew Klaus' attention. One of Marcel's 'boys' appeared first, closely followed by a second who had a prone form thrown over his shoulder furthest from Klaus' view. Without even turning around to look at his goons, Marcel gestured for the man to unload his burden on top of the bar.

"Anyone you know?" Marcel asked and he stepped aside to give Klaus a better view.

Klaus couldn't keep his heart from pounding when he saw the cascade of blonde hair that had spilled over the edge of the bar. He pushed past Marcel to get to the bar and let his hands delicately trailing over the bits of flesh that his eyes visually examined for any sign of injury. Her hands and ankles were bound with ropes that had been soaked in vervain. They left red burns on her milky skin, but there were no other marks or bruises.

Klaus leaned forward over her, protectively pressed her against his chest, and softly whispered near her ear, "Caroline?" She made no other sound except that of delicate inhales and exhales.

"They found her near Jackson Square talking with a witch. About you."

"Marcel," the word was barely more than a rush of breath but they oozed with menace, "you are about to have a whole new world of trouble to deal with. I daresay, you won't have time to even think about witches."

"I told you Klaus, this is _my_ city now! I make the rules and my boys enforce them. Any supernaturals who want to spend time here obey the rules."

"You _do not_ command _me_, Marcel!" Klaus roared as he spun back to step up toe-to-toe with his once-progeny. "I _made_ you! I am an Original!"

The softest dry cough broke into the tension and all of the men shifted to have a better look at Caroline on the bar. "Klaus?" her voice was raspy and unsure. Her eyes were open, but heavy lidded. Slivers of relief shot through the black rage that held Klaus tight.

Klaus went back to her and cupped her face with his hands, his eyes frenziedly searching hers. "Are you all right, Sweetheart?"

"I…," but her eyes fluttered closed as she slipped into unconsciousness again.

He let his fingers stroke her hair back from her forehead a few times as his system reshaped a flash of helplessness into the razor-sharp coldness that Klaus knew so very well. "For you, love," he said to Caroline.

The elder vampire moved with such speed that the two lackeys didn't even realize what was happening until Klaus was up to his elbows within their ribcages. His hands tightened around their pumping hearts and he gloated at Marcel's wide-eyed gape.

"You may think this is your city," Klaus hissed vehemently, "but you _do not_ rule _me_. And you _do not_ touch what is _mine_!" The two hearts in his hands tore easily away from their arteries and connective tissues and the two vampires slumped to the ground at Klaus' feet, the terror of their final moments frozen onto their faces. Their dismembered organs plopped wetly on the floor when Klaus dropped them. "That's three of your _boys_ that I've killed now, and they won't be the last. You've brought this bloodletting on yourself, Marcel."

Marcel said nothing and made no move as Klaus went back to the bar and scooped Caroline up into his blood-smeared arms. Klaus stopped one last time on his way out of the bar when he was side-by-side with Marcel. "That's the problem with being king, mate," the Original vampire said convivially with his most wicked of grins. "There's always a revolution just waiting to overthrow you. Viva le roi."


	2. Chapter 2

_In another life I see you as an angel flying high_

_And the hands of change will free you _

_You will cast your chains aside_

_And the dawn will come and kiss away_

_Every tear that's ever fallen from your eyes…_

_Oh, Caroline_

Concrete Blonde, Caroline

It was weird to think that just earlier that morning she had left Mystic Falls, driving herself towards Richmond International Airport; an e-ticket confirmation on her cell phone and every nerve in her body humming with exuberant anticipation. Flash forward a couple hours after that and a taxi was depositing her and her lone piece of luggage on a sidewalk outside of Jackson Square. She had stood there watching streams of sight-seers and shoppers flow past her while the afternoon sun shone brightly overhead and she marveled at how exhilarated she felt.

There had been a folded slip of paper in the front pocket of Caroline's jeans. She had smiled as her fingers absently felt it there. Its edges were slightly curled and stained from the numerous times she had held it and read the message written thereon. It had surprised her when she found it, the morning after graduation, neatly tucked inside the little clutch purse she had carried around that day. Despite the flutter of butterflies that the note always brought on, it had still taken her three weeks to get up the guts to finally take action, but she had done it. She had walked up to the edge of a cliff and it had felt amazing.

Caroline did not feel amazing now.

She had woken up confused. When the haze cleared from her mind she had been afraid, fearing that she was still a captive and that the men who had grabbed her were still lurking nearby. Defensively, panicked, she pushed herself back against the headboard in a half-crouch, half-sitting position. It took a few seconds for her supernatural hearing to pick up anything over the sound of her own pounding heart, but slowly she began to realize that, wherever she was, she was truly alone.

It hadn't been hard to deduce where she was once she managed to get a hold of herself and get some of the lights on. The room was decorated with high-end furnishings of rich dark woods with heavy metal accents. It was all very modern. Very manly. She instantly recognized the neatly folded piles of clothing when she pulled open the drawers of the bureau that sat against the wall opposite the bed where she had woken up. Seeing all of the clean clothing made her acutely aware of the disheveled state of her own attire. She was still wearing the same clothes she had on when she had gotten off the plane that morning; the same clothes she had been wearing when she had been ambushed.

She couldn't get them off fast enough. She yanked her top off over her head, tossing it and her bra behind her, vaguely aiming for the bed but not caring if they landed there or not. Her jeans and panties pooled around her feet and she left them in a puddle right there on the floor. Caroline grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt from the drawer and protectively held them against her bare chest as she padded off towards what she assumed to be the en suite bathroom, where she proceeded to take the most scalding shower of her entire life. And as the water sluiced layers of grime from her skin, the dirt spiraling away into the darkened depths of the drain, Caroline rested her head against the cool tiles of the shower wall and thought that maybe she could see a part of herself washing away as well.

Then she waited.

Klaus had been very confident that Caroline would be awake when he returned to the house though he had not expected to find her standing in his study in his own clothes, her hair a damp tangle of waves. The dark jeans rode low on her hips despite her attempt at cinching them with a belt, and the legs were haphazardly rolled up leaving her bare feet and ankles sticking out in a comical fashion. He did, however, appreciate the way the white, button-down shirt hung loosely on her torso, leaving an exposed trail of skin from her collarbone to the swell of her breasts.

"Hello, love. Interesting ensemble you've chosen for tonight."

"My clothes were gross," she answered, flatly, "and I seem to have lost my suitcase."

"Ah, well, you're in luck." Klaus lifted his hands and showed her the two shopping bags he held. "It's just a couple things to make due until we can get you a more suitable wardrobe."

Caroline didn't even pause to consider the boutique names on the bags. "Who were those men, Klaus?"

Klaus dropped the bags onto a sofa, turning his back to her as he moved to the wet bar where he poured himself two fingers of whiskey. He knocked the alcohol back in one large swallow that burned his throat and flooded his body with warmth when it settled in his stomach. "Just the rabid dogs of a sad little despot," he blithely answered.

"Marcel?" She knew that she had surprised him when his hands froze in the middle of the act of pouring himself another round.

"Someone heard a lot more than I thought she had." His eyes flicked up to the large mirror that hung over the bar and gave her reflection a bemused smile. "Elijah and I will deal with him."

"You mean kill him."

"That is typically what happens when someone displeases me. Though I'm sure my dear brother will say that it's a bit more complicated than that."

The whiskey in Klaus' stomach soured when his eyes met hers in the mirror. He had known Caroline long enough that he could read the intricacies of her expressions, and right now she was judging him. He hated people judging him. The last thing he needed was another critic. He already had a whole family full of those. She was trying to hide it, but Caroline's brow furrowed slightly and her nose scrunched up. He had seen before. She was displeased. He was used to seeing that in other people, but he had _saved_ her, he kept her safe and bought her beautiful things. As long as she was safe and sound what business of hers was it how those means were accomplished?

He pulled his eyes away from Caroline's image in the mirror and stared down at what was left of his drink. "Do you want to plead his case, Caroline? Want to lecture me on the evilness of my ways? Hmmm? Is that what you want, Caroline?" Klaus slammed the heavy tumbler back down on to the bar top, raising a soft chorus of tinkling crystal as the whole piece of furniture trembled from his fury. He spun around on her, taking no more than second to cross the space between them and force her to look at his anger head-on. "They took you to manipulate me into abasing myself to Marcel and you would have me show mercy?!"

He could feel his muscles tensing up. His fingers clenched into fists and then unclenched. He needed something to punch, something to break. He had been a fool expecting a hero's welcome from her upon his return. He realized now that he was little better than a dog looking for attention and approval. And the irony that fueled his growing anger was that none of it changed how much he wanted her or what he would be willing to do for her.

Time stopped for Klaus when Caroline raised herself up on her tip-toes, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders to help her maintain her balance, and pressed her lips to his. Her lips were so soft. And she smelled so utterly intoxicating, her own scent mixing with those from his clothes, that all of his anger flooded away as she brought to life a sudden new aching inside of him.

He wasn't kissing her back. The old Caroline Forbes would have been worried, paranoid. The old Caroline would have pulled away, embarrassed, flustered, and even a little afraid. But she knew now, without a doubt, that she was not that Caroline anymore and never would be again. The decision to answer his note, to come to New Orleans, had taken her to the edge of a cliff to face an expanse of unknowns, but it was the burning rage she felt for being kidnapped, drugged, and abused, _yet again_, that pushed her over and born her anew.

Caroline pulled back and looked up to meet his eyes. She knew what he wanted to hear. Words he would never in a million years have imagined hearing her say. The Caroline of 24 hours ago would never have dared to have said them, let alone think them. But they were right there, right on the tip of her tongue, now spilling past her teeth and parted lips. "No mercy," she said in a whisper as sharp as a razor's edge.

Those two words set off a cascade of righteousness, hunger, and arousal that rushed through his body. One hand reached out and grabbed her hip, pulling her body into his own, while the other slipped behind her neck and pushed into her hair while her own hands grabbed at his shirt, balling the soft fabric between her fingers.

"Promise me," she commanded before he could claim her lips with his own and devour what was left of her ability to think and reason.

Klaus paused in the moment, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. "I promise you, love," he vowed with a voice that was half kingly, half animalistic growl. "_No one_ hurts you and gets to live."


End file.
